Page 162 of Naughty Dreams
“Not from you. I know better. Marjorie’s going to stay with me for a week. She wanted to get on a plane right away, but I told her I wasn’t going to be here long enough for it to be worth that trouble.”
Roy already knew that. DJ knew he knew that. When DJ tossed off a few more bantering lines, it wasn’t his A-list stuff, but he was pushing down the pleading need Roy sensed behind it. However, DJ had shut that shit down himself, and Roy wasn’t sure where to go with it, not while the kid was in such a vulnerable state.
He understood what the deal was, same as Roy did. Right? So Roy let it stand.
Maybe they were both idiots.
He didn’t like the feeling it gave him. But when he eventually rose and planned to say something, anything, to deal with whatever the hell was holding both of them back, one of the record execs dropped in to see DJ.
Roy offered a courteous greeting and moved to the doorway as Carl Milford came to DJ’s bedside to gush over him. He’d brought DJ’s tea blend and a few magazines.
“Carl.” The cold note in DJ’s voice brought the man up short. “The person you just dismissed like he’s wallpaper is my friend. And the man who saved my life.”
Carl turned to give Roy a more appropriate greeting. Probably mostly driven by the need to placate his label’s cash cow, but the exec’s character wasn’t of interest to Roy. DJ’s words had hit him low and hard.
He met the kid’s gaze, and DJ gave him a little nod, his expression neutral. “Come see me, Roy. Okay?”
“I will.”
No promises of when or how or what that would look like, but it would happen.
Yeah, one or both of them had fucked up. But Roy was a planner, and he didn’t know what the right plan was here. He needed to think, and the kid was safe and getting on with his life. That was what mattered.
Roy flew out to Chicago. Moss texted Roy on the day of DJ’s discharge, indicating DJ had flatly refused to follow the wheelchair-to-the-door protocol. Couldn’t imagine why.Fortunately, after Moss explained, they agreed to escort DJ out on foot. Special circumstances.
DJ didn’t mention that when he sent Roy a text later the same day.They said get the hell out of here—we have sick people who need the bed. He included a selfie, angled to show Roy the volunteer escorting him, a handsome fifty-something with salt-and-pepper hair, green eyes, and built like a Marine.
This guy has Daddy Dom written all over him.
Kid was trying to provoke him, as always, which meant he was feeling better. It didn’t make Roy feel better. If Roy had been there, he would have been walking at his other side, instead of one of Henry’s people.
Gilda’s surgery was scheduled shortly after the completion of the Chicago job. He thought about going home, sitting on his boat dock with the birds, drinking beer and doing some thinking. Thinking, not brooding. There was an important difference.
DJ would have said brooding was sexier looking.
Instead, Roy drove to Asheville to visit DJ as he’d promised. He didn’t want their last interaction to be in a hospital, DJ looking too vulnerable and pasty in the smock.
It wasn’t really the last, but Roy knew why he’d framed the thought that way. Most times, once the job was done, if he saw the client again, there would be a distance. A feeling that only grew wider with time. If their attractionwasdue to circumstances, the same would be true for him. Roy disliked the idea. Intensely. Yet it wouldn’t make it less true, right?
And whether this visit confirmed that or not didn’t matter. The important thing was giving DJ time to deal with all that had changed in his life in a very short time.
They’d had great sex, a great connection. They had a friendship. Better to leave it, for now. Put no pressure on DJ, one way or another.
Roy had saved his life. But DJ had saved his as well. They were square.
When he reached the gatehouse, Luis, Henry’s man, recognized him and began to wave him through. Roy could have let it go, but he didn’t. Giving him a hard stare through the open window of his SUV, Roy didn’t move.
“Am I employed by DJ James anymore, Luis?”
“Uh, no, Roy.”
“So why are you letting me in without checking to make sure I’m expected, or that DJ even wants to see me? Maybe he’s pissed at me. Maybe that’s why I’m not working for him anymore.”
“But—”
“Maybe I’m a disgruntled former employee, planning to kneecap him with the baseball bat in my trunk.”
“Yeah, but?—”
